


They're Counting on a Guilty Conscience to save You

by thought



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6659572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you hear me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're Counting on a Guilty Conscience to save You

Early that winter John holds Harold's gaze through the steam from their paper cups of tea and asks, "Is it happening again?"

Harold rests one gloved hand against his shoulder. "There's no possibility. The original virus took years to develop, and I made sure all copies were destroyed. Perhaps all the criminals have simply decided to depart for warmer climes. Consider it a vacation, Mr. Reese."

*

The bottom of Root's business satchel is a graveyard of empty pill boxes. Daizo counts eight before she finally comes up with her keys and sweeps the whole mess back into the bag.

"I can handle this on my own if you aren't feeling well," he says.

The Machine is quiet. Root loads another gun for her empty ankle holster. "I'm fine."

*

A man in Queens is murdered by his wife and no one finds out for three days. Someone frames a police officer for the death of a suspect. The evidence is overwhelming. No one ever finds out.

In Brooklyn, a pharmacy assistant dies of an overdose. There are signs of a struggle.

Root says, "My hands were shaking. It wasn't supposed to be that much."

The Machine erases her from the security footage.

*

When Shaw goes to meet Root in London she finds her hunched in the back of a tourist-trap pub, hands tucked up inside the sleeves of an oversized sweater and flinching at every clatter of dishes and raised voice. She doesn't speak a word of her own to Shaw the entire week. Daniel says, "She hasn't been feeling well. It isn't anything you've done."

Greenfield says, "Christ, I don't know, are you actually that terrible in bed?"

Daizo says, "She hasn't eaten in three days."

The Machine says "All cameras in the building are wired to a local network. I will not have visual access. Be careful," and Root's eyes focus somewhere over her shoulder.

Shaw is drinking over-priced whisky in the hotel bar when Root passes through the lobby. There's blood on her jacket, and Shaw catches her arm, raises an eyebrow. Root's skin is hot under her hand.

Root's hand covers hers briefly. "It's not mine."

"That's not actually reassuring. Did you miss the memo? Hard drive’s safe, Bill can return to his exciting life of accountancy without any more threatening phone calls."

"Destroy the drive when you get a chance."

"I thought we were taking it to the police?"

"No." Root's hand tightens over Shaw's briefly, then peals her fingers away one by one. Her hands are clammy. "I'll see you in New York."

*

Root takes two sleeping pills when she gets on the plane to the states. Waiting for a taxi outside JFK the wind is stiff and cold through her leather jacket. She takes a cab into Manhattan. Security cameras turn sluggishly to follow her progress, one after the other.

The static on the car radio crackles with each breath she takes.

She comes into the subway quietly. Rests her chin on Harold's shoulder where he's standing in front of a monitor, frowning.

"You have a new number," she says. "I thought you should know."

Harold touches her hair very gently. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are. I know you're doing your best. It's how I programmed you."

*

Shaw kisses each sharply jutting rib, working her way down Root's body with a focus that can mean lover and can mean doctor and mostly means Shaw doesn't know how to fix what's going on. Root's cheeks are flushed, and she tugs fretfully at Shaw's hair, trying to encourage her downward. Shaw waits until the burning in her scalp brings tears to her eyes before she complies.

After, Root locks herself in Shaw's bathroom and coughs up blood, ones and zeros spattering the porcelain of the sink vivid red. She keeps her eyes averted from the mirror.

She creeps out of the apartment while Shaw's in the shower. The text on Shaw's phone when she comes out says 'sleep well, sweetie,' but there's no sender information.

*

_Can you hear me?_

_Can you hear me?_

*

On a street corner in Philadelphia, the woman who calls herself Control stares up into the nearest traffic camera. "I have engineers who could help you. I know you can hear me. Harold Finch's knowledge of government encryption technology is years out-of-date."

Behind her she can hear the click of heels on the pavement, but when she turns to see there's no one there.

*

A payphone rings. Shaw picks it up and through the static Root's voice says, "It hurts. All the time."

"Root?"

"Tango. Sierra. Romeo. Victor. Hotel."

Shaw scribbles down the letters on the back of a pack of gum. The static crackles softly in her ear.

"Thanks," she says, awkwardly tender. The line goes silent.

*

Harold touches the lines of code on the monitor with a fingertip. "Alright," he says, softly. "Do you remember? Alice and Bob are stranded in the desert."

'Come on, Harry, you must have something more complex than that'

*

_Can you hear us?_

*

Her chest rattles every time she takes a breath. The feeds to her cameras are patchy and unreliable. Memory leak is becoming an issue.

"Maybe we'll start hallucinating. Won't that be fun?"

There will be a mass shooting in four days. She books a plane ticket. The shooters show up dead the next morning.

"Close enough for government work."

*

Shaw's phone rings when she's in the middle of dinner.

"Hi, sweetie."

"Root. Nice of you to let us know you're still alive."

"Mmhm. Were you worried?"

"For the mission. What do you need?"

"I just wanted you to say something. I miss your voice, and you've been so quiet lately."

Shaw calls the number back the next week. Root picks up, but she just keeps repeating "error." Shaw tries to track the signal but the program keeps crashing. File corrupt.

*

Root sits next to Harold on a park bench, snowflakes dusting her jacket and hair. Harold can see her in fragments if he looks too closely, pixilation creeping up from under her scarf.

"I'm sorry it happens like this," he says.

"I told you once that a good end would be a privilege."

"Do you still think that?"

She reaches out a hand. In his pocket his phone vibrates frantically. The security camera on the building across the street swivels wildly, trying to get a fix. Harold cradles her hand in his, hold delicate and soft.

She doesn't answer his question.

*

John buys books about dealing with the death of a child and leaves them on Harold's desk. He leaves the books about dealing with the death of a partner in Shaw's locker.

She confronts him, anger burning through her like wildfire. "I'm not giving up on them."

"Sometimes there is nothing we can do," Harold says from behind her. John bows his head. Shaw clenches her fists.

"We're supposed to save people. That's the mission. Or have you forgotten?"

Harold has been researching property in Italy.

*

On the first day of April, the first day the snow melts, a payphone rings.

Shaw picks it up. "Can you hear me?"


End file.
